by Chris Fox
Wake Up
Voria returned to consciousness by degrees. She floated beneath a warm ocean of light, which cradled and protected her. It surrounded her, yes, but it also pervaded her. There was nowhere that she began, and the light ended. She was the light, she realized.
“Ikadra?” Her voice echoed into the distance, as if she were in a vast cavern. Where did it originate if she had no throat to issue it?
“Magic, obviously,” came an amused feminine voice. “In the purest sense of a word. Your body’s gone, kid. And I can say kid, because I was a goddess before it was cool.”
Voria didn’t have a head to turn, but she could apparently shift where her attention was focused. She was in a vast cavern, dozens of kilometers across. The ceiling was comprised almost entirely of roots, and below her, she realized, lay an ocean of magical energy. Life and water pooled together, swirling into one intermingled mass.
A ghostly woman shimmered into existence next to the pool of light, the pool that was Voria. She had long, dark hair, and a wide, friendly smile.
“Shaya?” Voria guessed.
“Of course,” the shade laughed. “This is the moment I was created for. I knew the day would come when an investiture was needed, and well, here we are. Krox is here. I can see her up there.”
“Her?” Voria asked, confused by the gender switch.
“Let’s just say Krox is no longer himself.” Shaya drifted closer to the pool. To her, Voria realized. How did one live as an ocean of light? “Someone else has seized control of the matrix, so to speak. I don’t know who she is, but I can feel her inside of him. Controlling him. You can too, if you try. Anything I can do, you can do a thousand times more. Everything I am is just a shade of who you are. You can think of me as a sort of a snarky guide your annoyingly beloved predecessor left behind.”
Voria frowned at that. “Krox is here, and our people are in danger. I need to get out there and fight. Just tell me how to do that.”
“All in good time, kid.” Shaya interlocked her fingers behind her head and relaxed into an imaginary couch. “What’s going on right now? It’s all in your head. Milliseconds are passing around you, so you’ve got, well, a few hours to get ready at least. Take your time. Understand who and what you are, and then defend your world.”
Voria found the cavern claustrophobic, particularly because she couldn’t see through it to ascertain how the battle was progressing. Aran was a fine commander, but he was as yet inexperienced and might benefit from her aid.
“You’re going to have to let go of that micromanaging stuff,” Shaya said, rolling her eyes. “Either this Aran can do what you need him to, or he can’t. You can’t get caught up in doing everyone’s job for them. You’ve got to focus on building a team of people who can accomplish the things you’re not around to do, and that starts here.”
“Okay,” Voria allowed. She couldn’t fault the logic. Delegation was practiced by every skilled commander. “You say we’ve got time, yes?”
The shade nodded, then leaned forward in her imaginary seat. “You’ve got questions. Let’s do this.”
“I can feel a great deal of life, and a fair amount of water, both inside of me.” Voria reached out experimentally, and could feel lesser quantities of other magics. They were minuscule in comparison to the life and water. “Theoretically that empowers me with nature, yes? I understand the greater paths conceptually, but not how to employ them. How do I cast spells?”
“You’re still thinking like a mage.” Shaya raised both hands, and began to glow with life magic. “See how I manifested that? I willed it, and it happened. It’s more like being a war mage than a true mage. A true mage basically talks to magic and tells it what to do. A god IS magic. You’re deciding what YOU want to do, and then expending a portion of your power to accomplish it. In short, think about it, give it some juice, and pow…spell achieved.”
“And how do I counterspell?” Voria figured that would be of immense use in a brawl with another god, particularly one as strong as Krox.
“The same way you cast. As soon as you become aware of Krox doing something you don’t like, then you think about something happening that will prevent it. If she summons a flight of dragons, you suck them into the Umbral Depths. If she throws a fireball—and she might—you throw an equal or greater amount of water at it.”
“Okay, let’s test this.” Voria reached out with a dizzying array of new senses. She couldn’t see through the roots above, but she could sense a vivid tapestry of powerful magic above.
Parsing friend from foe was trivially easy, as was inspecting Krox’s magical signature. Though, before she did so, she spent a moment studying the shield protecting Shaya. Another blow or two and it would be destroyed, and the death of her planet would come in its wake.
She shifted her attention to Krox, and surprise flitted across her mind like quicksilver. She recognized the presence within Krox. How could she not? “Nebiat. I don’t know how, but I’d know her anywhere. She must have been involved in Teodros’s scheme.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a grudge.” Shaya gave a melodious laugh that reminded her a little of Aurelia. “My turn to ask questions. What are you going to do now?”
“My first priority is protecting my world,” she reasoned. “I’ll need to reinforce that shield, which it seems I can accomplish by fueling it with life.”
“That will stabilize the ward, for a short time at least.” Shaya folded her arms, and stared upwards. “But what then? Eventually Krox is going to break through.”
Voria was silent for a long time. She spun out countless possibilities in a turbulent sea of understanding. In some, she stood strong. In most, she died. Krox was stronger than her. There was no doubt about that.
But she had allies, and at the end of the day she’d rather ride into battle with her battalion than receive any amount of divine power.
She realized something was missing. “Wait, why can’t I see the Talon? It should be present in the battle, but about midway through simply ceased to exist. I don’t see it destroyed, but…it’s gone.”
“I may not like the scaly bastard, but Inura is a crafty Wyrm.” Shaya shimmered into the air above Voria, and stared up at the battle. “It’s possible that he may have hidden the vessel somehow. Or it could also be that the Talon is hiding inside of a larger entity, which would obscure it from all scrying. Either way, you aren’t the only one who won’t be able to see it.”
50
The Spellship's True Purpose
Voria appeared in the sky over the world where she’d been born. Nebiat—she refused to think of it as Krox any longer—pounded away at the shimmering shield protecting Shaya. Voria instinctively extended a hand, or tried to anyway. Then realized she had no hand. She was a floating ball of light, not at all like Shaya had been.
Shaya’s amused laughter echoed through the void somehow. “You can change that. Envision what you want to be, and then…be it. You are an archon of creation. Handle it.”
“Okay, let’s see if this works.” Voria envisioned a titanic reflection of herself. She pictured herself, complete with the confederate uniform, only far, far larger. Large enough to oppose Nebiat.
There was no slow process, no gradual change. She simply became what she wished to be, a goddess comprised entirely of light. Voria stood tall over Shaya, ready to defend her world. “I never imagined it would come to this, Nebiat. But as I’ve told you countless times, I will always oppose you.”
Nebiat paused mid-swing, and drifted slowly away from the discolored shield, which now had ragged gaps eroded in several places. Not large enough for one of those fists to fit through, but close enough that a few more blows would allow Nebiat to crush everything Voria struggled to protect.
Yet her rival made no move to continue. She hovered there, folding all four arms as she peered at Voria. “I should have realized you’d recognize me. How many gods have a hand in this moment, I wonder? Despite all their meddling, I promise noth
ing will keep me from achieving my goal here.”
“Is that so?” Voria asked mildly. She extended her newly created hand, and willed the shield to reappear. The gaps filled, and the shield’s dim illumination built into a steady, vibrant glow. That glow was even stronger than it had been when the shield was created.
She turned back to Nebiat. “Let’s settle this like warriors, Wyrm. Leave my world out of it.”
Nebiat’s hands extended, all four of them, and rivers of green flame rushed out, the tendrils snaking around every side of the shield, probing and searching for entry. Everywhere they touched, the life magic weakened, and within moments the vast majority of the shield had eroded.
“I am well prepared for this game, little goddess,” Nebiat taunted. Her fists fell upon the battered shield, and fresh cracks occurred. “I will eventually break through, and when I do my forces will burn your world. You cannot keep me out forever, and you lack the magic needed to stop me.”
Voria refreshed the shield again, though she felt the cost of it. How many more times could she shield her world? A dozen? Two? Eventually Nebiat would get through, unless she could find another solution.
“Is she right about us lacking offense?” Voria whispered in her head. “I need a weapon. You can’t tell me Inura didn’t prepare something.”
“We don’t have anything flashy like fire magic, but that’s why Inura and Virkonna made us tools like Ikadra and the Spellship. And the Talon. All three are designed to kill a god, or in Ikadra’s case, to forge one.”
“Speechless, then?” Nebiat called. The dark god continued to beat on the newly erected shield, and it was already cracking. It wouldn’t be long before Voria had to refresh it a third time.
“We should do something flashy.” Shaya snapped her fingers and her smile returned. “I’ve got just the thing. Want to see what the Spellship was really designed for?”
“Show me.” Voria turned her attention to the ship where, theoretically at least, her mortal body still lay. It was long and slender, so unlike the sleek Talon. Given her current size it would probably fit in the palm of her hand.
“Go ahead, then,” Shaya prompted. “Take it in your hand and see what happens. Trust me, you’re going to love this.”
Voria stretched out an arm, and willed the Spellship to come to her. The vessel obediently appeared across the palm of her hand, roughly the size and shape of a sword hilt. It vibrated suddenly, in greeting she realized. It was…alive. No less so than Ikadra, and like Ikadra it had been crafted to be wielded by a goddess.
Vast, brilliant light appeared at either end of the Spellship as her hand closed around it. The magic lanced outwards into long, thin blades of pure life magic, the antithesis of spirit, and void, and dream. It was a double-bladed staff, she realized. “My goddess.”
“Me, you mean?” Shaya gave an amused snort. “Pretty cool, right? You can melee gods with that thing. You’ve had training, right?”
“Not much,” Voria admitted. She gave the staff an experimental twirl that ended with her opposite fist thrust outward. Her eyes darted down to the Spellship in sudden alarm. “There are tens of thousands of people in that ship. Are they…okay?”
“They’re fine.” Shaya waved dismissively at the ship. “It was designed for this. Your followers provide the power, and trust me, not even a god likes getting hit by that thing.”
Nebiat had finally noticed the new weapon, and broke off her attacks on the beleaguered shield. She rose into the sky over Shaya, and flexed all four of her arms. “There’s some fight in you, then. Good. I’m going to enjoy this, Voria. I’ve foreseen your death, many times, at my hands. I’ve tasted it so many times. Now I will make it real.”
A cosmic fist sailed toward Voria, and she clumsily raised her staff to block. She narrowly deflected the blow, then backpedaled toward the sun to gain room. Nebiat followed up with another blow, and another. Voria desperately fell back, narrowly deflecting attack after attack.
Shaya’s frowning face drifted into her field of view. “You’re thinking two dimensionally. This isn’t a school yard brawl. You. Are. A. God.”
“Think like a goddess,” she murmured to herself.
Voria teleported behind Nebiat, and rammed her staff into the elder god’s midsection. The tip blazed where it touched her cosmic skin, and easily pierced her back. She brought the weapon up, and pulled Nebiat away from Shaya, flinging her toward the sun. A river of white spirit energy flowed from the wound, clustering in the air like droplets of divine blood, which maybe they were.
Nebiat gave a cry of wordless rage, twisting in the sky over the shield. She brought all four limbs to bear, each hand balled into a fist. Tremendous power built around each, then expanded toward her in four waves of green flame. She brought up the Spellship, and desperately parried one of the beams.
The other three slammed into her body, one in the leg, another in her chest, and the third her shoulder directly above. She couldn’t precisely call what happened pain. Something more like utter mind-breakingly powerful terror, the knowledge that a part of her existence had just unraveled, and that if it happened again she would cease to be.
Her right arm, the one holding the Spellship, hung limply, unable to make use of the weapon. Voria desperately willed magic into it, forcing her body to return to its previous state. It came quickly, and easily, but not quickly enough.
To her shock Nebiat hadn’t followed up on her attack. Instead, she’d turned her attention on the undefended world where Voria’s previous followers desperately huddled.
51
Atma
Nebiat had witnessed countless variations of this moment. It was a moment that Kem’Hedj players called ‘atma’, which meant death, or endless darkness, depending on your favorite translation. You left your opponent no viable choices, and they either gracefully conceded, or were systematically dismembered.
There was not a single possibility where Voria conceded, gracefully or otherwise, but Nebiat wouldn’t have it any other way. She wanted to savor this, her rival’s futile struggle. No matter what path Voria chose, she was about to die. Not a single possibility in the trillions Nebiat had perused offered her any chance of survival.
Nebiat thrust a hand toward the world below. A final rush of acidic, green fire rippled through the last vestiges of the shield, and her followers, Wyrms and Ifrit both, flooded through the gaps and began to assault the world below.
Her other three arms shot down, and seized the great tree itself in different locations. She willed her mass to increase, and slowly tore the wretched tree from the world that had birthed it. Tens of thousands died as branches snapped away and fell upon the settlements around the roots, along with mountains of soil and the remains of their structures.
As the tree tore free from the world, her nails dug into the wood, shattering it everywhere she held. Under the wood she felt something cold and alien. A life form, but one that lacked anything recognizable as a consciousness.
You have done it. Krox’s voice held awe. What you feel is Worldender, the oldest object in existence, so far as we know.
Nebiat yanked the spear free from the remnants of the tree, laughing as countless fragments of wood rained down into the atmosphere, dooming the farming villages in the fields around the gaping hole where the tree had stood.
Behind her Voria had begun to rise, and had summoned her magic to heal herself, as she had in every possibility. And, as she had in every possibility, Voria went to the aid of her world. She summoned life, and water, and somehow undid nearly all the damage that Nebiat had inflicted.
Countless tendrils burst from Voria’s hand like strands of blue hair, and the water magic twisted down around the city below. Cool water fell upon the Ifrit, burning them as surely as acid might a human. Spikes of ice pieced the Wyrms, jabbing through hearts, and skulls, and lungs. Hundreds of her minions died, just as she’d seen in countless possibilities.
Voria’s crowning moment, the one that truly earned Nebia
t’s respect and admiration, came when she gathered the thousands of fragments of the wood raining down into the atmosphere. Life touched every last one, the tendrils as numerous as the water had been. They carried the fragments back toward the position where the tree had stood, and began welding them back together.
The gaps were filled in with magic, and it all happened in the space of seconds. Many citizens hadn’t even had time to fall to their deaths, and Voria managed to save them, depositing those who’d survived the initial impact back onto safe perches on her newly created tree. It lessened the catastrophic loss of life, but only slightly.
Finally, a new shield began to ripple outward from the tip of the tree, once more shielding the survivors from Nebiat’s surviving forces.
It was all so very impressive, a fitting last act for her rival. Many citizens had died, but Voria had somehow saved a few. Only a god with the computational power she possessed could truly understand how great a miracle that was.
Her power is rooted in creation. This is where she excels. Slay her, and take that strength for our own. It will prove useful in many situations.
Nebiat could have countered Voria’s magic. She could have prevented her rival from restoring the blasted tree, and even from restoring the shield. Instead, she chose a far, far more terrible fate for the people of Shaya.
She raised Worldender in two of her hands, steadying the weapon as she aimed at Voria’s chest. In every possibility the ancient weapon ended Voria. There was no hope for her enemy’s survival. Voria was exposed, a conscious choice on her part that had been necessary to save her world.
After her death Nebiat would take that world for her own.
She would make these people love her and worship her. She would teach them to revile Voria, and turn this into the first colony in her new empire. She would mold them into rabid warriors, and then unleash them to destroy everything the Shayans once loved.